Tuesday, 2 September 2014

Last week I went home to the town where I grew up, Derry,
Northern Ireland. I was a bit nervous. My childhood experiences were of a
heavily Catholic bias, so I worried that bringing my novel home was going to be
a challenge, what with its mistaken identity as ‘lesbian erotica’. (Yes, there
are lesbians in it, and apparently I ‘write good sex’, but that is secondary to
the plot).

Luckily, Derry Central Library had more sense and were only
too happy to organise a promotional

event which we timed to coincide with
Derry’s 21st Pride march.

I did work my butt off on social media, making lots of
contacts and associated plans in the weeks before. But I did not foresee how
beautifully things would pan out.

We flew in early on Tuesday, filling the morning with a Game
of Thrones location hunt, which was a lovely way to see some beautiful parts of
the Antrim Coast and keeping Beloved Aspie very happy. The afternoon was about
confirming appointments and chilling with my sister.

Wednesday was a bit manic: an interview with the Derry
Journal by the insightful Ellen Barr, then on to a radio interview with Radio
Foyle’s Mark Patterson (you can have a wee listen to that on my website www.sineadgillespie.co.uk). While
there, I sat in on the interviewee before me, a lady I hadn’t met or spoken to,
who now lives in Morocco and was on her annual trip to Ireland. About an hour
later is where the magic began to happen…

We’d gone into town and were having a wander around the
Craft Village and the wee gift shop, and who was there but this same lady,
Rachel. We had a chat and she asked why I had been at the Radio Station as she
hadn’t heard it as she was leaving. I told her about the book and she said,
“You must go up to Bedlam and talk to Jenni in the bookshop there. Tell her I
sent you.”

Well, nothing ventured…Bedlam is an indoor market of
vintagey, crafty stuff, with Little Acorns Bookstore at the back. I found
Jenni, introduced myself, and within moments she took books for stock and
invited me to come back and do a chair signing. She has two very old wooden
chairs: one for visiting and local authors, the other for actors. And they are
scribbled all over with famous names! (check out Little Acorns Bookstore on
Facebook).

That evening we went to see a play called ‘Pits and
Perverts’, based on the true story of the Gay and Lesbian groups in London who
rallied to raise funds for the Welsh Miners striking against Thatcher’s harsh
moves in the 80s. It’s a brilliant tale of overcoming prejudice: touching and
funny in equal measure. While there, I met other Derry writers, the cast, Jenni
again, and a woman I’d only communicated with via twitter and email, Shá
Gillespie, who organises Foyle Pride. Quite a night!

Next evening was the biggie: the launch talk at the library,
followed by a reading as part of the Pride event at Café Soul. I’d be lying if
I said I had a crowd at the library. Tough thing is people say they will come
and, for a million reasons, they don’t. I always recall the director I worked
with on my one-woman show, when I asked, how small an audience before I don’t
go on? He said, if there is one person in that room, you will perform. The
point being, touching one life is worth more than touching none.

There was more than one! It was a lovely event, and I met up
with women in Derry who think like me, and I’d lost track of that (there’s a
novel about that in the long pipeline). And the Pride event was funny as I got
to read some of the naughty bits to an appreciative audience. Nuff said. (Muff
said? Donegal joke).

So, skipping to Saturday and the Pride event itself –what a
joy to see the 80ft rainbow banner carried through the centre of a city whose
history is worn rife with prejudice, and even the policemen were smiling.

And on this day, two bookstores took my book; I signed the
chair and went home laughing.

Before we left, and after an interesting visit to Belfast
which would be a blog in itself if I could work out how not to offend some, a
third bookstore took me on.

What a turn-around. From my sad and low expectations that I
would simply be rejected because I anticipated my subject matter to unacceptable:
Derry did this this girl of hers proud. Big time. For the first time in too
many years – I can’t wait to go back.

Wednesday, 6 August 2014

I got a last minute opportunity to attend a writing workshop
in Sussex that would lead to a reading in the Literature Tent at Brighton’s
Pride. Too good to pass up, even if it meant driving up for a long weekend,
driving back down to get Beloved Aspie through some minor surgery, then driving
back up in holiday traffic to attend the event. That’s a seven hour round trip
that became nine second time round.

It’s been six years since I lived in Brighton, and I’d
completely forgotten how wonderfully crazy Pride makes the city. I came in on
the train, from staying just outside, and the first thing I registered was the
wide ranging age group, all in a party mood, some wildly dressed with feathers
that touched the roof of the carriage. There were teen girls, middle aged women
with groups of friends, old men, young men, and a bunch of teen lads who
probably shouldn’t have had the beers they were drinking. But when one of them
staggered in the aisle as the train jolted, his apology couldn’t have been more
polite or sincere.

At Brighton Station we were met with police and barriers,
and an old Buddhist friend who was in charge of operations to keep people
travelling safely.

From then on it was smiles, and laughter and music and a
general carnival feel as I made my way to Preston Park and the stages and
events there.

The Literature Tent was delightfully busy with a whole range
of work being read and shared. As members of the workshop, we got to read an
individual piece first, then together offered a collaborative letter to Russia.
It was just such fun to stand there with such diverse people and have a moment
of truly believing in equality.

Feel free to call me naïve – but in a world where I feel I
am constantly battling for recognition for people with autism to be treated
equally -I am so impressed with
individuals who take huge steps to be themselves and respected for it. And don’t
forget, things are very different in other parts of the country: all of the UK
is not cosmopolitan and attitudes fluctuate widely.

I will definitely be returning to Pride next year, in style!
My face hurt from smiling so much and my heart was a whole lot lighter and more
hopeful for being there.

And I got a t-shirt for Pride in Derry, N Ireland in a
couple of weeks: ‘I can’t even think straight.’ True on so many levels.

Friday, 27 June 2014

On my
mission to spend quality time with Beloved Aspie (BA), yesterday’s beautiful
sunshine took us to Hestercombe House and Gardens in a glorious corner of
Somerset. The finale of the visit was a look around the Gallery. (That’s a lie
– the finale was a mega chocolate brownie in the caff before going home).

Anyway…you
need to know that I have been an Art student, studying Fine Art and Art
History, and almost went to Art College instead of University and Law. As such,
I can find an appreciation for most things though I own my own tastes.

And in
fairness, BA has his own posters and prints that he likes, though they are
highly likely to involve Dr Who, Superheroes, or cats, and he has a keen eye
for sparkly gems.

Off we go to
the Gallery rooms, BA dutifully appraising the catalogue notes and locating the
exhibits. One was a fairly chunky bronze of a pair of binoculars; another was a
wooden stile painted bright blue; another was a spade, hanging on a wall, made
of beautiful wood; another a swarm of bees masquerading as a mantel piece
clock. In a separate room was Tracey Emin’s ‘there is another place’, a neon
tube of writing on the wall.

BA was impressively discreet about his misgivings.

We embarked
on a conversation with the volunteer invigilator who told us this was their first
‘modern’ exhibition and as such, she’d had to do a lot of research so that she
could talk to visitors, who had some interesting comments. This led to a
discussion of conceptual art.

The problem
for me, I told her, is that some of the finished pieces are so far removed from
the original concept that they are not, of themselves, interesting or beautiful
to look at. I fail to see the point if the object offers no attraction and I
have to read an essay about its meaning.

Then it got
me thinking. If I applied the same idea to writing novels, how would that work?

I could
spend my months in advance doing copious research, writing up notes, creating
my characters, mulling over the plot in my head, then, when it’s ready I could
write my novel in 4 words

…but I love
you

And leave
the reader to work out the rest.

Never mind
flash fiction or the 50 word story – let’s unleash a new form – the conceptual
novel. I’m sure I could write a few of those, in fact I’m just working on ‘The’.